


Worst Weekend Ever

by Lynx22281



Series: Edison College [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While away at college, Dean catches a nasty 24-hour bug.  Luckily, he doesn't have to suffer all alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worst Weekend Ever

Dean slumped in his seat behind the music library’s check-out desk, crossing his arms over his abdomen. His eyes slid up to the clock over the door. Only an hour and a half to go before campus police would be by to lock up the building for the night. He wished he hadn't taken a nap after his history class and almost slept through dinner. He really wished he had grabbed a bowl of cereal instead of the hour old Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes that had been the only food left on the hot line when he finally got to the cafeteria. His stomach wasn't too happy with his choice. He'd been fighting strengthening cramps for nearly half an hour. He tried to focus on the _Intro to Music Theory_ textbook laid open next to the keyboard, but couldn't get past the first sentence of the chapter. 

 

"Hey, Layla," he called quietly. 

 

Layla and Chuck looked up from where their heads had been bent over the same notebook. It was Friday night, and the two senior music majors were the only other people in the small library. Layla frowned softly, "Dean, you ok? You look horrible." 

 

"Bad dinner. Can you watch the desk? I'll be back in minute." He was pale and sweaty, and the cramps were finally to the point where they couldn't be ignored. He barely waited for her response before he bolted out of the library and around the corner to the nearest restroom. 

 

Thankfully there was no audience present for his impromptu concert of Tibetan throat singing. Dean rushed into a stall, not even taking the time to slide the lock in place. His knees barely made contact with the tiled floor before his dinner made its encore appearance. Relief was immediate and left him feeling weak and shaky. He panted harshly before taking a big gulp of air as he sat back on his heels. Out of all the sick there was, stomach sick was the absolute worst. After waiting a few minutes to make sure there was no repeat performance, he pushed himself back up on wobbly legs and left the bathroom stall. 

 

He quickly washed his hands and face, before catching a look at himself in the mirror. The face looking back at him was flushed, freckles standing out more than usual against his pink cheeks. The cramps were gone, but a feeling of unease lingered in his belly. Salisbury steak was officially on the list of foods never to eat again. 

 

Layla looked up from the chair behind the circulation desk when Dean walked back into the library. She gave him a concerned look. "Feel better?" 

 

"Yeah," he lied as he walked behind the counter and sat down on a low stepstool, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. 

 

He sat there quietly for several minutes. The relief he had felt in the bathroom was quickly being replaced with another wave of nausea. He took a long inhale, holding it for several seconds before slowly exhaling. Maybe this was something more than just bad food. He hadn’t felt great when he woke up this morning, but he felt fine after breakfast and made it through the rest of the day as usual – well, except for that unscheduled nap after history class. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his shoulder. 

 

Layla stood over him, gently squeezing his shoulder. "If you want to go to back to your room, I'll stay and close up the library." 

 

Layla did her work-study in the music library. She had worked with Dean during some of his first shifts, showing him the ropes until he was comfortable working on his own. Tonight was not her night to work, but she and Chuck were usually in the library every night studying until close even if she wasn't working. 

 

"Nah, I'll be fine." No sooner than the words left his mouth did his stomach let out a painful grumble and he ran out the door. He had a moment of panic on his way to the bathroom of not knowing whether he needed to sit or kneel, and decided to drag a trashcan into the stall with him. 

 

When he finally returned to the library fifteen minutes later, Layla shook her head at him. "You are not fine." 

 

Dean crossed his arms on top of the counter and laid his forehead on the cool surface. He heard some shuffling around him, but didn't bother to look up. 

 

Chuck nudged his elbow gently. "C'mon, man. I'll take you back to the dorm. My car's parked out front so you don't have to walk far." 

 

Dean straightened up to see that Chuck already had Dean’s backpack slung over one shoulder and one of the library's small metal wastebaskets in the other hand. He felt too bad to argue and followed Chuck out after waving to Layla. Hancock Hall wasn’t too far away from the fine arts building, but a car ride was much faster than walking, and Dean was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to walk back without stopping to throw up in the bushes. 

 

In less than five minutes, Chuck pulled up to the dorm’s front door. Dean dragged himself out of the car, leaving the unused trashcan in the front passenger floor. “Thanks, Chuck,” he said as he slammed the car door. 

 

“Don’t mention it,” Chuck replied through the open passenger window with a little wave of his hand. “At least you didn’t puke in my car. Feel better, dude.” 

 

Dean trudged up the steps to the dorm and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. The door to the building burst open and half a dozen students rushed out, nearly bowling him over. 

 

“Dean!” Andy spotted him as the crowd worked its way past the front door. “We’re going over to The Pit to hear The David Buckley Trio. Wanna come?” 

 

Dean shook his head. “Not feeling so great. I think I’m gonna turn in early.” 

 

“Your loss, man!” Andy said with a grin as he stretched his arms over Ava’s and Sarah’s shoulders and headed down the sidewalk. Scott hurried to catch up to them as he barreled past the door. 

 

The door nearly closed before Dean grabbed it and hurried through the Hancock lobby. A few people were scattered through the common area watching TV or just waiting around for friends to come down to go out for the evening. He kept his eyes down and headed straight for the stairway door, not wanting to get stopped again. 

 

The cramps returned halfway up the stairs to the second floor. Dean rushed to unlock his door and throw his bag into the room before jetting down the hallway to the bathroom. 

 

For the next two hours, Dean wore a path from his room to the bathroom. He refused to deal with throwing up in a trashcan, preferring the convenience of the toilet, even if it was down the hall. Luckily, the second floor was mostly deserted and he never encountered anyone on any of his trips. By his seventh trip to pray to the porcelain god, he decided to give up on going back to his room and curled up uncomfortably on the cold tiled floor in the largest stall to wait out the calm before the next stomach storm. Who knew what gross germs were living on the floor, but they couldn’t be any worse than the ones waging war in his gut. 

 

Dean had just flushed after his latest bout of vomiting, which by now was bringing up little more than acidic bile, when he heard the door squeak open. He froze, inwardly groaning. He really didn’t want someone else to be subjected to the horrors of his stomach, but knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tide of sick while someone else was taking care of their own business. 

 

He heard someone clear their throat before a vaguely familiar deep voice asked, “Dean?” 

 

Dean sighed, waiting a half second before responding weakly. “Yeah?” 

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

“Not really.” 

 

“Can I get you anything?” 

 

“No.” 

 

The person at the door shifted and spoke to someone out in the hallway, but Dean couldn’t make out what was being said. 

 

The voice turned back to him. “I talked to Anna and she said you’re welcome to use her room for the night. She’s off campus for the weekend.” 

 

Anna, the second floor’s resident assistant, had a single room at the end of the hall with a coveted private bathroom. The offer surprised Dean. They usually only spoke in passing, just general pleasantries and the usual complaints about college life, but that was the sum total of the interaction they had had so far. And while she was nice, he just couldn’t see her giving someone she barely knew access to her own room while she was away. But, he didn’t mull over the motive of the offer too long. He was tired of the bright overhead lights and the hard floor of the common bathroom, and of constantly worrying over someone else needing to use the can. However, before he could voice his acceptance, his body involuntarily threw itself over the commode again and his fingers clutched at the seat. 

 

Suddenly he felt a hand resting on his shoulder and the toilet flushing under his face. In his earlier rush, he hadn’t bothered to bolt the stall door. Another hand offered a wet paper towel when he finally lifted his head. He took it with a nod of thanks before two hands stuffed themselves under his armpits and hoisted him up on wobbly legs. “Dude,” he rasped with a raw voice. “Personal space.” 

 

A deep chuckle sounded next to his ear as the guy held him for a moment to steady him and make sure he didn’t crumble into a heap on the floor. Dean twisted his head to get a look at his new personal care assistant. He caught glimpse of a stubble lined jaw, messy dark hair, and cool blue eyes watching him with concern. 

 

“Oh,” he said with slight disbelief. “Hey, Cas. I didn’t recognize your voice.” 

 

Castiel Milton was Anna’s twin brother. They looked and acted so differently, that it was hard to imagine they were siblings let alone twins. Anna had red hair and hazel eyes and Castiel had black hair and blue eyes. While Anna was outgoing and friendly, Castiel was quiet and reserved, preferring to spend his free time practicing rather than socializing. He was a sophomore and the principal cello in the orchestra. Anna and Gabriel, the twins’ older brother, occasionally managed to drag him out to on-campus parties, but only if there was good live music. Dean hardly ever saw the guy outside of the Fine Arts Center and had begun to wonder if he lived in a practice room instead of a dorm room. As with Anna, Dean had hardly exchanged more than a few words with Castiel, though he had sat next to Castiel at lunch one day earlier in the week when a group of music majors all happened to be in the cafeteria at the same time. The guy was nice despite his anti-social tendencies. 

 

Castiel guided Dean out of the stall and offered him a little paper cup to fill at the sink. He watched while Dean filled the cup and swished the water around his mouth. 

 

“How’d you know I was in here?” Dean asked after spitting out the mouthful of tepid water. He expected to deal with being sick alone, but was surprised and relieved to have someone actually check on him. Maybe he wouldn’t die all on his own after all. 

 

“Layla called. She knows I’m the only one still around on a Friday night.” He gave a soft snort of a laugh. “She called a while ago, but I had my phone turned off while I was practicing and only just checked my messages a few minutes ago. She seemed really worried about you, and I can see why. How long have you been sick?” 

 

“Since around 8:30. Been laying in here for the last half hour or so, I guess.” Dean groaned when he saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles lined his green eyes. His hair stuck out in all directions. His five o’clock shadow looked much darker than usual against his pale face. The neck of his loose gray t-shirt was dark with sweat. 

 

Castiel took the paper towel and cup from Dean, tossing them in the trash before washing his own hands. “Let’s get you settled in Anna’s room before the next wave hits. Do you want anything from your room?” 

 

Dean smiled weakly to Castiel as they exited the bathroom. “Yeah, my pillow, a blanket, and my phone.” 

 

Castiel nodded. “Her door’s unlocked and I’ll bring your stuff. Have you been drinking anything?” 

 

“Can’t keep anything down.” He replied as he padded barefoot down the hall towards Anna’s room, in the opposite direction of his own room. He glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel disappearing into his room. His stomach performed its warning flip-flop prompting his feet to move faster. He barely noticed the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows on the poster covered walls before he made a beeline to the tiny, nightlight lit bathroom and collapsed on his knees. In mid-retch, he realized that a shaggy bathmat had cushioned his fall. 

 

After flushing, he leaned back against the cool bathroom wall with his eyes closed. His right elbow was leaning against the toilet seat and his left elbow was propped on the ledge of the tub. A cautious knock sounded at the door. He opened his eyes. “Yeah?” 

 

The door opened and Castiel stood in the doorway with a pile of Dean’s things in his arms. He handed Dean his pillow, comforter, and phone before arranging his toothbrush and toothpaste along with a plastic cup on the sink. He dropped a towel and washcloth on the tub ledge. Taking a step back he grabbed a few more things from outside the bathroom. He tossed a pair of socks into Dean’s lap before kneeling down and offering two bottles of Gatorade. “I got orange and yellow. Which do you prefer?” 

 

“Yellow,” Dean replied with a grimace as he pulled the socks on his cold, bare feet and decidedly did not reach for the offered drink. 

 

He really didn’t want to put anything in his still roiling stomach. He fumbled with his phone, checking for missed messages. His mom had called once and left a few texts, finally saying she guessed he was out for the night and hoped he was having fun. He snorted softly. Loads of fun. He punched in the letters _S-I-C-K_ and hit send. 

 

Castiel twisted the cap off the bottle of yellow Gatorade before grabbing Dean’s hand and wrapping it around the bottle. “Drink it. At least then you’ll have something to throw up. It’ll feel better than the dry heaves you’re having now.” 

 

“Alright, Florence Nightingale,” Dean quipped as he took a tentative sip and set his phone aside. The liquid cooled the burn of his painful throat. He took a few more tiny sips of the yellow drink. 

 

“I have some saltines, but you might want to wait a little while longer before trying to eat.” 

 

Before Dean could acknowledge the crackers, he was struggling to push the blanket off his lap and get up on his knees again. With the first heave he was glad he had had something drink. Throwing up the thin, lemony liquid felt much better to his battered esophagus than throwing up stinging stomach acid. 

 

He heard Castiel shift around to sit on the edge of the tub and then felt a warm hand gently rubbing between his shoulder blades. The touch brought on a sudden, nearly overwhelming crush of homesickness. Here he was nearly 19 years old, all grown-up and on his own at college, and he missed his mom so bad it made his chest hurt. Being sick away from home really sucked. He could feel snot rushing out of his nose and tears prickling at his eyelids, and was very glad that his face was hidden in the toilet bowl. 

 

Castiel tugged gently at his shoulder and offered him a cool wet washcloth. Dean wiped off his face and mouth before draping his arm across the toilet seat and resting his forehead on top of his forearm. He was exhausted and wanted desperately to curl up in bed. The reprieve was short lived as a violent cramp rumbled loud and low in his belly. Castiel was already moving towards the door before the word “Out!” left Dean’s mouth. 

 

Dean barely heard Castiel say “I’ll check on you in 10 minutes” as the door shut and he frantically switched positions at the toilet. He grabbed the empty plastic trashcan sitting next to the sink and planted it firmly between his knees. So much for being able to throw up in the toilet. 

 

Over the next few hours, Castiel knocked on the door regularly to inquire if Dean needed anything. Dean lost all track of time, but paid attention to Castiel’s voice through the door and made sure to respond to keep Castiel from actually coming into the bathroom to check on him. Castiel reminded him to drink after every episode of vomiting. When he finished off the yellow Gatorade, Castiel pushed the bottle of orange sports drink through the smallest crack he could manage to make in the door. 

 

The waves of upset slowly petered out over the early hours of the morning. When Dean realized he was dozing, he tried to get up from the toilet only to find that his legs were completely asleep and wouldn’t budge. His chest and abdomen protested mightily as he straightened up, and he was pretty sure he’d pulled a muscle from all the heaving. Carefully, he wormed his way back into his sweatpants and lowered himself down onto the shaggy rug to curl up in his blanket. 

 

A soft knock at the door pulled him back to consciousness just as he was about to drift off. 

 

“Dead yet?” The question was supposed to be light and joking, picked up from Dean’s response of “I’m still alive” to Castiel’s repeated question of “Are you ok?” all through the night, but Dean could hear the concern lacing Castiel’s voice. Who could blame him for being worried when there was a dying freshman in his sister’s bathroom? 

 

“Wish I was,” he groaned in reply. His throat was wrecked. 

 

The door opened and Castiel shuffled in to kneel down next to Dean. He rested a hand on Dean’s upper arm with a barely noticeable squeeze. “I think you’re over the worst of it. You haven’t thrown up in over an hour.” 

 

Castiel extended his free hand and offered Dean three saltine crackers. “Eat these. If you can keep them down for 20 minutes, then I’ll help you back to your room so you can sleep in your bed.” 

 

Dean groaned again as he reached to take the first cracker. “I don’t think I can climb up into the loft.” 

 

Castiel scooted the bottle of orange sports drink closer to Dean’s reach and watched him slowly chew the dry saltine. He pulled a bit of toilet paper off the roll and set the other two crackers on it, placing them on the floor by Dean’s hand before heading out of the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

Dean finished another cracker with a sip of Gatorade. The feeling of food and drink was noticeable in his empty stomach. While his stomach churned slightly, it didn’t rebel against having something in it. After eating the last cracker and swallowing the last dregs of his drink, Dean balled up in the comforter with nothing but the tip of his nose sticking out. 

 

“Dean.” A hand shook him. It felt like only a second had passed since he closed his eyes. 

 

He furrowed a brow and burrowed further into his blanket and pillow, not ready to leave the comfortable place behind his eyelids. 

 

“Dean, wake up.” The hand shook him a little more forcefully. “The longer you lay here the harder it will be to get off the floor.” 

 

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, licking at his dry lips. Quietly, he croaked, “Gross. My mouth tastes like ass.” 

 

Castiel chuckled and carefully helped Dean up to sit on the edge of the tub. Dean’s arms and legs trembled, but he couldn’t tell if it was from chills or muscles that didn’t want to work properly. After rubbing his face with a shaky hand, he looked up to find Castiel holding his toothbrush and toothpaste in front of him. 

 

“Thanks,” he said as he reached for them and squeezed a drop of paste onto the toothbrush. 

 

The toothpaste’s minty cool flavor was a welcome change from what his taste buds had endured over the last few hours. When he was ready to spit, Castiel cupped a hand under his elbow and helped him stand at the sink, not moving away until he was sure Dean could stand on his own strength. Their eyes met in the mirror as Dean stuck the toothbrush back in his mouth. Castiel offered him a little smile. Dean’s eye slid down to where the other guy’s hand lingered on his arm, still making sure he wasn’t about to fall over. He wondered why he didn’t think it was weird that Castiel was constantly up in his personal bubble, but then he figured that he was just too sick to care. 

 

Moving much slower than usual, Dean finished brushing his teeth and leaned down to splash water on his face while Castiel left his side to gather up Dean’s stuff to take back to his room. They emerged from the tiny bathroom into Anna’s room. Dean noticed that textbooks, notebooks, and a laptop were scattered across the bed’s purple and green comforter. He thought he remembered the bed being neatly made and empty when he passed by it on his way to the bathroom hours earlier. Shaking his head to himself, he turned to glance out the window. The sky was pink and gray. Dean frowned softly. “What time is it?” 

 

“Almost 7,” Castiel replied as he ushered Dean through the room and out into the hallway. 

 

As they slowly made their way down the hall towards Dean’s room, Dean counted back the hours. He’d been sick for over 10 hours. He couldn’t even begin to guess how many times he’d thrown up, but was pretty sure it was more than all the other times he’d ever been sick over his entire life combined. 

 

Dean opened the door to his dorm and was instantly glad to be surrounded his own stuff. He was surprised to see that the mattress had been pulled down from his loft and was taking up the middle of the floor. Castiel tossed Dean’s pillow and comforter on the bed and offered a hand to Dean. With Castiel’s help, Dean carefully lowered himself to the mattress. The softness of the mattress was so comfortable it was almost painful, and he groaned with relief. He stretched out on his stomach and wrapped his arms around his pillow, rubbing his face into the cool pillow case. 

 

“Do you need anything?” Castiel asked as he headed towards the door. 

 

Dean shook his head, succumbing to exhaustion almost before he heard Castiel say, “I’ll be back.” 

 

When Dean woke up again, he felt weak and groggy, but noticeably better. The acute, painful sick feeling had been replaced by a dull, all over ache that was much more bearable. He opened his eyes and stretched his arms and legs under the covers. An unopened bottle of Gatorade and a plate of saltines were sitting on the floor next to the mattress, directly in his line of sight. Slowly, he pushed himself up on one elbow and grabbed the drink, unscrewing the top. He took several long gulps, pausing to swish the last mouthful through his teeth before swallowing. 

 

A rustle somewhere in the room caught his attention. Dean twisted slightly to see that Castiel was stretched out on the futon under the window. One arm was thrown over his head blocking out the light and the other rested on the spine of a paperback book lying open on his stomach. His chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of sleep breathing. A plaid fleece blanket that Dean didn’t recognize covered Castiel’s legs. A cellphone and empty glass coffee mug sat on the low table in front of the futon. 

 

Castiel had stayed by Dean’s side all this time. He could have checked in on Dean to satisfy Layla’s request to see if he was ok and gone back to his own room. But, he had gotten permission – or at least Dean assumed he had – for Dean to use his sister’s private bathroom. Castiel brought him drinks, handed him wet washcloths for his face, and checked on him constantly. When the worst of the sick was over, Castiel had helped Dean back to his room, but instead of just leaving him alone to sleep, Castiel quite obviously decided to stick close. Castiel had been the best nurse – never hovering, yet always there right at the moment when he was needed the most. 

 

A smile twitched at the corners of Dean’s mouth. He never expected this type of kindness from anybody who was essentially no more than a casual acquaintance. Dean knew he’d never been able to fully return the favor. He just hoped Castiel like coffee, and vowed to himself to buy the guy a coffee every day for the rest of their time at school together. 

 

After finishing off the Gatorade, Dean carefully pushed himself up to his feet, using the frame of his loft to steady himself before taking the few steps over to the futon. He gently patted Castiel’s knee, throwing a glance to his alarm clock as Castiel jerked awake. It was a little after one in the afternoon. He had slept for six hours straight. When he looked back down at Castiel, confusion was just beginning to clear from the hazy blue eyes looking up at him. 

 

“You’re wake,” Castiel said as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, setting his book and blanket beside him on the futon. 

 

“And, standing on my own two feet. No less,” Dean croaked with a grin as he swept his arms wide with pride at his accomplishment. The motion pulled at his abdomen causing him to grimace slightly. 

 

Castiel pushed up to his feet, brows immediately furrowed with concern at the look of pain on Dean’s face. 

 

“I’m fine. Just sore.” Dean waved him off. He turned his cheek against his shoulder, sniffing softly before making a face. “Ugh. I reek.” 

 

Castiel’s face relaxed as he laughed softly. “Yeah, you’ve smelled bad for hours.” 

 

Dean rolled his eyes and headed to the closet on his side of the room. He grabbed his shower caddy, a towel, and his robe. He stood in front of the closet for a second, suddenly at a loss for words. Finally, he cleared his sore throat and stammered, “Uh…thanks for looking after me, man. Sorry if I ruined your Friday night.” 

 

Castiel’s smile softened and he shrugged his shoulders. “I was just going to watch the Law and Order: SVU marathon on USA, but not knowing which end you were going to expel your internal organs from was much more exciting than rapists and kidnappers.” 

 

Dean barked a hoarse laugh and opened the door to the hallway. “I’m gonna take a shower. I think I’ll be ok now if you have better things to do.” 

 

“Don’t drown,” Castiel said with a grin has he started to collect his things off the futon and coffee table. 

 

Dean gave him a wave as he headed out towards the shower room. Once he arranged his stuff in the shower and peeled out of his rank clothes, he stepped under the hot stream of the shower. Thankfully there was nobody else in the room to hear his totally obscene moan. The only good thing about a dorm shower was the infinite supply of hot water. After standing under the shower head for a good five minutes without moving, he grabbed his soap and scrubbed, rinsed, and scrubbed a second time to get the clammy, sick feeling off of his skin. By the time he finished washing his hair, he was tired and shaky again. He had to sit on the bench in the shower stall to dry off. 

 

When he got back to his room, he was slightly disappointed that Castiel wasn’t still there, though thankful that Castiel had managed to put his mattress back up in the loft. Dean already missed the other guy’s quiet company. He pulled on a clean t-shirt and pajama pants before grabbing a soda from the mini-fridge and his laptop from the desk. After setting up the computer to play a _Family Guy_ DVD, he set it on the coffee table next to his drink and stretched out on the futon. 

 

Dean was just slipping off into a nap when there was a knock on the door. He was too tired to move from the futon, so he just called out, “It’s open!” as loud he could. 

 

Castiel bustled into the room with two white plastic bags hanging from one hand and a cardboard carrier with two hot drink cups held in the other. Dean perked up immediately with a smile and reached out to pause the show on his laptop. “I figured you had run as far away from the sick room as possible.” 

 

“I brought lunch,” Castiel said with a little lift in his shoulders. 

 

Dean swung his legs over the edge of the futon as Castiel set the bags on the table in front of him. He didn’t recognize any of the containers as things that came from the cafeteria. Castiel handed him one of the drinks. Dean took a cautious sip before closing his eyes to enjoy a longer sip of smooth, velvety goodness. “Oh man. That’s good. What is it?” 

 

“Hot cocoa from Ferguson’s. It’ll be better on your stomach than coffee.” Castiel smiled, rather pleased at Dean’s reaction. He sat and began to empty the two plastic bags. From one bag, he pulled out a six-pack of yellow Gatorade, a bunch of bananas, a box of graham crackers, and a pack of fruit cups, setting it all next to Dean’s laptop. Then, he pulled a round Styrofoam container and a plastic spoon from the other bag and offered them to Dean. 

 

Dean took the container and lifted the lid. Steam lifted the smell of savory chicken soup up to his nose. He forwent the spoon and drank the broth straight from the bowl. The hot, salty soup soothed his still raw esophagus. He couldn’t help the little “Mmm…” that bubbled up from his throat. 

 

Castiel smiled as he arranged his own drink and turkey sandwich. “Have you eaten at Ferguson’s yet?” 

 

“Not yet, but I’ve gone in for coffee a few times.” Dean shook his head before reaching for his cocoa. Ferguson’s Deli was just off campus, but well within walking distance and was a popular place with most of the student body. 

 

“I usually grab lunch there on the Saturdays because the food in the cafeteria is so bad on the weekends. You should definitely try the brisket sandwich when you feel better. It’s the best thing on the menu.” Castiel bit into his sandwich. 

 

For a while, they ate in companionable silence, watching a few episodes of Family Guy. Dean managed to drink most of the broth from the soup, eat a few noodles and half of a banana. Sitting back against the futon, he slowly nursed the rest of his cooling cocoa while Castiel cleared away the trash. He was getting tired again 

 

Castiel glanced over to the clock and frowned slightly. He grabbed Dean’s phone from the coffee table. “I have to go to a rehearsal, but here’s my number. Text me if you need anything or start to feel bad again,” he said as his fingers pressed the tiny buttons on the keyboard. 

 

Dean reached up to take his cell from Castiel, their fingers brushing together very briefly as the phone passed between them. He smiled sleepily up at his newfound friend. “Thanks for everything, Cas. What do I owe you for lunch and all the Gatorade?” 

 

Castiel grinned and shook his head. “Don’t worry about.” 

 

Dean watched him leave. When he looked down at Castiel’s phone number on his phone screen, he was suddenly reminded of that time Rhonda Hurley gave him her number in eighth grade. Dean furrowed a brow before chuckling at himself and playing off the feeling as still being half-delirious from sickness. He stretched out on his side, facing the laptop as a new episode started. He was out like a light before the credits rolled. 

 

The chorus of _Hey Jude_ woke Dean up several hours later. He yawned and rubbed his eyes before he realized where the sound was coming from. He grabbed the phone and pushed the talk button with a smile. “Hey, Mom.” 

 

“Hey, kiddo. You feeling ok?” 

 

Motherly concern washed over him and briefly made his chest feel tight. “Better than I was last night.” 

 

“You don’t sound too good.” 

 

“Yeah...that’s what happens after 100 rounds of puking.” 

 

“Oh, poor thing. Stomach bug or bad food?” 

 

“Probably both.” He related a quick play by play of the previous night to his mom, when he first felt bad, how he camped out in the bathroom, how he was rescued by Cas, how he slept a lot since he finally stopped throwing up. 

 

“Who’s Cas?” she inquired eagerly. Over the first couple of months at college, Dean hadn’t really mentioned too many of his fellow students by name except for his roommate, Ash, when he talked to his mom. 

 

“Castiel Milton. He’s our RA Anna’s brother. Made sure I didn’t die,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s the principal cello in orchestra. He’s like a pasty, white Yo-Yo Ma.” 

 

Mary laughed. Suddenly there was a commotion in the background that sounded suspiciously like a moose crashing through a china shop. His mom’s voice was muffled slightly, “Hey! Those aren’t for you or the dog. Here talk to your brother.” 

 

The phone jostled around for a few seconds before a happy voice said, “Hey, Dean!” 

 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean could swear he heard the eye roll in response to the moniker over the phone. 

 

On his thirteenth birthday, Sam had declared in a squeaky voice that he was grown up and didn’t want to be called _Sammy_ any more. Their mom complied with the request, at least for the sake of keeping up a teenager’s street cred in front of his friends. Dean, however, kept calling his little brother _Sammy_ just to annoy him. 

 

“Sorry. Can’t talk. Brady’s mom’s here to take us to the movies. Hope you feel better, man! Send me a Demons shirt! Bye!” Dean could picture his brother loping down the hallway to the front door with his floppy bangs, baggy hoodie, and gangly limbs that he didn’t quite have total control over yet. 

 

“I lost one son to college and the other to high school,” Mary said with a wistful chuckle. “Your brother’s hardly home long enough to do his homework and stuff his face before he’s running off to do something with somebody somewhere. At least I still have Murphy to keep me company. Isn’t that right, Murph?” A little bark answered her question. 

 

Dean imagined their white and tan Cavalier King Charles Spaniel sitting at his mom’s feet begging for whatever cookies or pastries she had cooling on the kitchen counter. He bet the house smelled amazing with Mary’s latest experiments for the bakery. With a small voice, Dean admitted, “I miss you, Mom.” 

 

“I miss you too, baby. You sound tired, so I’ll let you go. Keep an eye out for a package this week and call me when you feel better, ok? Love you.” 

 

“Ok. Love you, too.” When the call ended, he tossed the phone back onto the coffee table and sighed. Life went on at home without him. He still felt like crap and was all alone. He usually didn’t want anybody around him when he was sick, but at least when he was home his mom or Sam were somewhere close by. He missed Castiel again. 

 

The room darkened steadily as the sun slid behind the dormitory across yard from his window. Dean was tired of sleeping, but didn't feel like doing anything else. Pushing up from the futon he rummaged around in the makeshift pantry -- several milk crates zip-tied together and stacked on top of the mini-fridge -- looking for the snacks Castiel had brought earlier. He grabbed some graham crackers and a fruit cup from the random assortment of typically unhealthy guy-food and a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge before flopping back down on the futon. 

 

As he was checking his email on the laptop, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. 

 

_*awake?*_

 

It was Castiel. Dean stuck a graham cracker in his mouth and picked up the phone. _*yep *_

 

_*want dinner?*_

 

_*gonna have a fruit cup. wouldnt mind company.*_

 

God, he hoped that didn't sound desperate. He twisted the cap off his drink bottle. Castiel probably had a million better things to do than to keep hanging out with his sick self. 

 

_*i'll bring a movie*_

 

A few minutes later Castiel walked into Dean’s room carrying food bags, drink cups, and a few of the latest movie releases. Dean flashed the dark-haired guy a grateful smile as they settled on the futon together. 

 

What started out as the worst weekend ever was turning out to not be so bad and somehow he had managed to make a new friend.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a totally true story, only I didn't have a friend to keep me company while I was puking my guts out in the dorm toilet. Ugh.


End file.
